


Should've when you could've

by Trash



Category: Linkin Park
Genre: F/M, Glorious Excess era, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-28
Updated: 2014-01-28
Packaged: 2018-01-10 08:58:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1157710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trash/pseuds/Trash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mike's art show, like everything else in his life, is perfect. And it makes Chester want to scream.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Should've when you could've

Otis is wearing the same clothes as Mike and Anna is smiling in her Sunday best and everybody is ever so happy and proud of them both, the show, everything. Chester hangs back with his fifth glass of free champagne in one hand, an unlit cigarette in the other and a scowl on his face.

Mike wanders over with his son on one hip sucking on the collar of his shirt and being so cute that every woman in the room sighs and clasp their hands to their chest. Chester empties what’s left of his champagne and puts the glass on the tray of a passing waitress.

“You can’t smoke in here,” Mike says as he approaches, nodding at the cigarette hanging from Chester’s fingers. Otis gurgles in agreement.

“I know.” Chester reaches out to flatten down the little tuft of hair on the top of Otis’ head.

“Which painting is your favourite?”

He wants to say all of them. They’re all amazing. The story is absolutely perfectly portrayed and it’s heartbreakingly accurate in comparison with the world we live in. But instead he shrugs in a noncommittal kind of way. “I really like the tabloid wall.”

Mike smiles. Beams, actually. “That’s Otis’ favourite too,” he says and looks down at his son who laughs and smiles toothlessly.

“Jesus Christ, Mike, do you not get tired of being fucking perfect all the time?” Chester mutters and pulls a cigarette lighter from his pocket. He jams his cigarette between his lips and lights it, heading to the nearest exit.

Fans somewhere behind him scream but he completely ignores them and walks to the back of the building. He rubs his arms even though it isn’t cold. Wishes it was. Wishes he could feel something. He snatches his cigarette from between his lips suddenly and presses the burning red tip to the delicate skin of his forearm.

The smell is as sharp as the pain and he closes his eyes, basks in it. He brings the cigarette up to his lips to take a drag before lowering it to his arm again. Somebody takes it from him gently and he looks up calmly.

Mike stares back at him blankly, presses the cigarette to his own lips and takes a long drag before flicking it away. “You’re no good to anybody like this,” he says, “maybe you should go home.”

Chester shrugs and leans his weight against the wall behind him. “Make me.”

“Suit yourself,” Mike shrugs and turns around to head back inside.

“No,” Chester says, “no wait.”

Mike turns around where he is but doesn’t step closer, doesn’t say anything.

“Why did you call him Otis?”

Mike shiver and folds his arms even though there’s no breeze. The night is still and calm and perfect. Like everything else in his life. “It was Anna’s choice.”

“Bullshit. I want to hear you tell me the truth.”

Chester stares at him hard until Mike lowers his eyes. “You said if we ever adopted, that’s what you’d call our son. Our daughter would be called Robyn but spelled with a ‘y’ to avoid Batman jokes.” He looks up and blinks, his eyes dark. “You already knew that. And it was a lifetime ago, those things we said. It wasn’t something that was ever going to happen. Anna just happened to like the name too.”

Chester nods but isn’t satisfied. He turns back and stares up at the stars. “I’ll go home,” he says, “if that’s what you want.”

Mike shrugs. “Do what you want.”

“That’s never worked out very well for me before,” Chester smirks and walks away, not looking back.


End file.
